After Ann had eaten her supper, and had been tucked away between some
tow sheets and homespun blankets in a trundle-bed, she heard the
whole story, and lifted up her hands with horror. Then the good
couple read a chapter, and prayed, solemnly vowing to do their duty
by this child which they had taken under their roof, and imploring
Divine assistance.

As time wore on, it became evident that they stood in sore need of
it. They had never had any children of their own, and Ann Ginnins was
the first child who had ever lived with them. But she seemed to have
the freaks of a dozen or more in herself, and they bade fair to have
the experience of bringing up a whole troop with this one. They tried
faithfully to do their duty by her, but they were not used to
children, and she was a very hard child to manage. A whole legion of
mischievous spirits seemed to dwell in her at times, and she became
in a small and comparatively innocent way, the scandal of the staid
Puritan neighborhood in which she lived. Yet, withal, she was so
affectionate, and seemed to be actuated by so little real malice in
any of her pranks, that people could not help having a sort of liking
for the child, in spite of them.

She was quick to learn, and smart to work, too, when she chose.
Sometimes she flew about with such alacrity that it seemed as if her
little limbs were hung on wires, and no little girl in the
neighborhood could do her daily tasks in the time she could, and they
were no inconsiderable tasks, either.

Very soon after her arrival she was set to "winding quills," so many
every day. Seated at Mrs. Polly's side, in her little homespun gown,